


Caged Together

by the_authors_exploits



Series: Cobbled Streets and Worn Out Shoes [1]
Category: DC Comics, DCU (Comics), Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, idk what im doing, just to whet your appetite, this is just the beginning like setting things up so it dont make much sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-12-23 14:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: He's not a demon but he's not human, and neither is the kid before him; the butler, on the other hand, is pure evil





	1. Chapter 1

“Ahh,” the demon hums; reddish brown eyes blink ever slowly through the bars, the posh man bending at the waist to smile viciously. “What have we here?”

The young boy dabs blood from his cheek, nonplussed by the dead man lying at his feet, and turns to pluck his walking stick from the ground. “We don’t have time for games, Sebastian; let us depart already.”

“But, my young lord, we have an interesting subject here.”

“Leave him for the Yard to clean up.” The boy grumbles and taps his shoe against his cane, dislodging dirt from the heel. “We have other events to attend to.”

A softer smile, no less dangerous, is gifted to Jason; he snarls in response, and the demon chuckles quietly. “Not even time for one touched by death?”

That seems to get the one eyed child’s attention; he turns to peer over his shoulder, piercing gaze seeking out his butler’s interest. “Touched by death.”

“See for yourself, young master; touched by death, but not claimed.”

The boy steps closer, and Jason eyes his shoes; they clack against the cobblestone, an interesting sound, _clack, clack, clack_ … Steady and strong, demanding. He raises his eyes and stares at the eyepatch; it’s better than the clear blue eye that stares him down.

“Not claimed.”

A wheezing laugh comes from above, and the demon and child glance up; Jason knows who it is. The thing; the thing with white hair and stitched skin.

“Not this one!” Undertaker titters again, snickering into his clawed hand. “This one is special; this one a fighter! This one does not give up easily.”

“Are you here to collect the bodies?” The man—seller—and whatever of his produce didn’t make it this far. “I thought you normally awaited the other reapers to finish their cataloguing before arriving.”

“I would,” he folds his arms delicately and Jason knows the toothy smile he gives; dangerous like the demon before him, but somehow endearing. “But it’s so much fun to watch them scurry after their target, traipsing about madly! Fu fu!”

“You always did like to play.”

The young boy scoffs and turns away once more; “I grow weary of this palabra; let us go, Sebastian.”

“No,” Sebastian grips the bars and bends, breaks them, and Jason watches him closely. “There is a power here, master; one that might come in handy later on.”

Undertaker chitters, and Jason reasons he should take this chance to escape; so he lurches forward, shoves at the demon, and stumbles out to freedom. When the coppers come, they can better take care of the other kids; and if not, then Jason will come back for them. Wherever they’re sent, he’ll find them.

But whatever this evil has planned for him he won’t be a part of; so he goes to run, ignores the young lord call out for his butler, but he doesn’t get far. He expected exhaustion or malnutrition to be the culprit, but instead there are arms wrapping about his waist, pinning his arms to his side, and swinging him to his knees.

“Ge’ off me!” he gurgles, choking on his dry throat. “Lemme go, ya bastard!”

“A gift to you, young Ciel.” Undertaker bows ever so slightly, and begins to take his leave. “A demon and an undead at your side; a few snips and stitches to make him live.”

“I do not want one of your dolls.”

Another chitter, like bugs crawling from a bird’s song. “He is not a doll; he is a new creation, elongated life without emptiness.”

Jason drifts; he had fought, for sure, but it hadn’t resulted in much beyond the butler tutting and the young master glaring in annoyance. The carriage ride had been comfortable enough, upon plush velvet seats and wrapped in the demon’s coat, under the scrutiny of Ciel’s watchful gaze. He drifts in tiredness, haunted by stomach pains and cramped muscles.

He knows he’s in someone’s arms—no doubt the demon butler’s—and that the house they enter is gigantic, a mansion fit for a lord twice Ciel’s size; there are many voices, all clamoring for attention, calling out raspy words and high pitched questions. Mirrored glasses fill his vision, and he flinches; the arms tighten, and the room swims as he’s moved through it.

More stairs, and Jason shuts his eyes; the young lord is at the demon’s arm, speaking to him orders.

“Clean him up; I want to know what Undertaker is up to, but the boy needs rest and food.”

“Very astute, young master.” A dip in altitude; Sebastian is bowing. Jason wishes he could run; somewhere safe, far away, but he can’t even seem to open his eyes anymore.

He knows a bowl of warm water has been fetched, with clean cloths, and he’s laid down on a soft surface—a bed? A warm, wet cloth is brushed over his exposed skin and he falls asleep.

When he wakes, it’s to a darkened room; there’s a strip of light coming from between heavy curtains—late afternoon then—and he’s warm under a down-feathered comforter. He has just enough strength to roll over before falling back into slumber.

He’s awakened by a hand on his brow—and a demon smiling down at him.

“Good day, young one; I think it’s time you eat something.”

Jason shakes the thing’s hand off but not that devilish smile.

“I have brought you a soft chicken broth to help you regain your strength, as well as some bland oats if you can stomach something more filling.”

“I won’t eat your poison.”

His smiles goes and he gives a curious look. “I would never!” Aghast, as if insulted.

“I know wut you are,” Jason growls; he crawls to the other side of the bed and looks for an escape. “Yer a demon.”

“And you,” the demon bends close; his eyes glow, and Jason expects him to grab his throat and rip it out. “Have touched the other side.”

And then there’s the smile again, distastefully sweet, and a cup of steaming broth is being handed to him. “Now, eat; or the young master will be very unhappy.”

He accepts the warm drink; it is bland, but filling, and he eyes the bowl of oats as he sips; Sebastian hands it over, with a spoon to eat, when the cup has been drained. Jason accepts it, rather eagerly, and chows down before the butler decides to take it away.

“I would go slow, or you might reject it shortly.”

When he’s finished eating, he’s shown to a washroom where a bath has been drawn and is given a change of clothes; the butler offers, humored, to wash him and Jason shoves him out with foul curses. When he’s freshened up, he leaves the washroom and opens the bedroom door a crack; he wants to leave from this strange place.

Instead of an empty hallway, he’s once more greeted by that devilish grin.

“The young master would like to see you in his study.”

He ponders refusing; hoping out the window and running for the woods, but the butler pushes the door open and grips Jason’s shoulder. He’s tugged outside of the room, and pushed down the hallway; he digs his heels in and tries to resist.

Sebastian is not even deterred one bit, and he continues to shuffle Jason down the hallway; down a flight of stairs, another hallway, and finally through a large polished oak door. The room that greets him is spacious and lined with bookshelves; a few filing cupboards are crowded in a corner, and a giant desk is placed before a large bay window.

The highbacked leather chair turns dramatically, and Ciel smiles in all fake jubilance at him. Hands uncross to motion out at his study, and he tips his head congenially. “Welcome; I am Ciel, Earl Phantomhive. You’ve already met my butler, Sebastian; I have some questions I’d like answered.”

Jason’s not one to punch little kids; but this one is off, wrong, damaged and threatening. Sebastian’s hands tighten on his biceps, as if reading his thoughts. Jason wisely keeps his mouth shut.

The young lord’s smile grows, thin and venomous. “Why don’t you sit?”

He does, solely because there’s still a demon at his back.

“Now, let’s start with pleasantries; you know who I am. Who are you?”

“Jus’ a street rat.”

“Hm, I doubt it; Undertaker seemed to have taken a liking to you.”

He wonders how long these demons have lived in the shadows. “Name’s Jason; ’m jus’ a street rat from the gutter with pretty enou’ eyes to fetch a price.”

The lord doesn’t flinch, but he does stiffen and his smile loses some of its edge; Jason seems to take notice of the eyepatch again, wonders what happened that’d scar the kid so much. “And yet a reaper wouldn’t take you.”

But they did, if for an eternity, and then spat him back out. “Ma’be so.”

A hum. “What makes you special?”

Quiet; a bird outside chirps, insects whistle. Jason looks down at his hands. “I…” the words get stuck, as they tend to do, and he forgets how to speak, as he tends to do; mutism, oddly selective and ever frustrating. He tries again, fails, and digs his nails into his palm.

Sebastian stands at his lord’s side, both silhouetted against the setting sun, dark figures and dangerous company; nature suddenly stills. Broken off, Sebastian’s smile slips into a thin line and he turns to assess outside.

“I’m afraid we have company, young lord.”

Ciel barely turns his gaze from Jason, but hums gently. “See to them, Sebastian.”

A bow, subservient yet ever powerful. “Yes, my lord.”

The sun is obscured by figures—more from the spirit realm—carrying weapons of reaping and Jason realizes there are more demons than just his own in this world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what im doing but welcome to the mess

Sebastian is, as always, exceptional; he toes lightly upon the branch with all the grace of a sparrow, lips stretched over fanged teeth in a pearly threat. His voice is lilted in such a way as to seem inviting, layered with decay.

“Is there a reason, sirs, why you have come to accost my master’s mansion?”

Grell coos, but William stiffens and grips his scythe closer. “I’m sure you’re aware of the escapee in your house. We’ve come to retrieve him; Undertaker stole him away, as he’s want to do, but he is still in our ledgers.”

Sebastian tips his head; his smile is still in place, serene as ever, and speaks unapologetically. “i’m afraid we cannot give him to you; you see, he was a gift to my master and Young Ciel is very appreciative of gifts. As well,” Sebastian flashes his eyes, “as possessive of what’s his; and, currently, the boy is his.”

“We cannot,” William returns, “let him stay here; he is an ambomination. Rot in a garden.”

“Aren’t we all?” He chuckles. “Humans poisoning the world they’re in; you sowing grief like weeds; and those like me, twisting fate and feeding off it all.” he licks his lips.

“Oh, Sebastian!” Grell flutters, and William clearly refuses to roll his eyes.

“We will take that boy; with or without a fight, demon.”

There’s a flick, a crack in the air, a match being struck; smoke curls from chapped lips, and light glints from the roof top across the way.

“We are the Phantomhive servants, William, and as such we are tasked to care for the household.”

William seems ready for battle; then, he surrenders. His shoulders relax, and he steps away from the mansion. “Very well; we will return at a later date, one where you might be more willing to deliver us what is ours. When even a demon cannot deny the evil at work here.”

Sebastian watches them go; he waits until they have long vanished before turning to give his thanks to his fellow servants. Even Finn had shown, fists at the ready; he sends them back to the duties.

Inside Ciel’s study, he acknowledges Jason; with the reapers delt with for now, he has much to learn. “So clearly Undertaker was telling the truth when he said you were undead. Yet you’re not an empty doll; can you tell me what you remember?”

Words still aren’t quite working right, so Jason fists his hands in frustration; Ciel tips his head and Sebastian enters as quiet as a mouse. He steps close to Jason’s chair, leaning close with that sickly sweet smile.

“I believe Young Jason might have some communicative issues.”

His scowl is almost as dark as Sebastian’s can be, but the butler finds it humorous; Ciel considers for a moment his pen and inkwell. He slices a paper from the pile on his desk and passes it over to his new companion.

“There are ways to get around that.”

Jason eyes the paper and offered pen, then raises a brow and his clouded eyes up to Ciel; Sebastian hums quietly.

“We’ll work on his illiteracy later on; for now, perhaps a tasty dinner would settle nerves from such an eventful evening. We can speak more tomorrow, after a restful night.”

Ciel stands; he hardly reaches above Jason’s elbow, with scars aplenty, and there’s a weight in Jason’s stomach. Ciel comes to stand before Jason, who’s also abandoned his chair, and for a moment they stare at each other; Ciel’s head tipped up, Jason’s down, and something clicks.

It’s like a mirror, staring into the solitary wide blue eye; one covered, clearly from some horrific history, and Jason knows they should be innocent, full of life and luster, of laughter and fun. They are heavy and dark, boasting secrets and vile thoughts, slowing dimming to death. They remind Jason of himself, young and broken, for a moment and the realization makes him unsteady; the eye, massive already, widens further and a small hand reaches out to grasp his arm.

“Steady,” Ciel commands; he glances to Sebastian. “Perhaps Jason will take his dinner in his room.”

Jason knows what forced that life from him; he’s not curious to know what forced it from this child.

“I’m sorry,” he forces out. “I’m so sorry…”


End file.
